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“Wassup, man?” Hayes said groggily, holding himself up against the wall.
“Wassup man? Is that you look like shit. You do not eat. You do not stay awake. What the actual fuck is the matter with you?”
“Um, well. My boyfriend just got fuckin’ traded…”
“Even before this. The circles under your eyes. You play like shit. You…you are on drugs, yes?”
“Os, don’t…”
“Don’t you tell me don’t!” Osi snapped back at him, causing Hayes’s eyes to bug for a second, as Osi rarely raised his voice. “You are on drugs?”
Hayes sighed, rolling his eyes. “My fuckin’…shoulder’s been actin’ up, and it’s a few pills just to take some of the pain away.”
Osi’s eyes immediately filled with tears and Hayes had to look away before his heart disintegrated. “I? Come from long line of addicts, Tyler Hayes. The lies. You are not careful, you are going to fuck up all you work for. And then what? Shit. That’s what.” He stormed out of the bedroom.
“Os, come on…”
“Happy Thanksgiving. Enjoy your fucking nap.”
After they’d left the apartment, Hayes plopped back down next to TK. “He’s so fuckin’ pissed at me. Add that one to the list.” TK didn’t budge. Hayes checked; he was breathing, but he was out cold. “Good talk, man.”
Reaching for his phone, he’d hoped to see a message or missed call from Ryan. They’d talked for a bit this afternoon, with Ryan expressing his concern over why Hayes hadn’t picked up the phone when he’d called him after landing last night. This was followed by Hayes lying about having fallen asleep instead of admitting that he’d shot heroin and docked cocks with his fuckhot teammate.
But there was nothing.
He was about to send him a message, but something suddenly hit him, more like bombarded him, and he opened the Uber app instead, as his brain began to assault him with a cacophony of aspersions.
No one gives a shit about you.
You’re worthless.
You’ve fucked up your life.
You’re not shit without him.
He’s too good for you anyway.
You’re a nobody and that’s how you were meant to stay.
Just fuckin’ do it already, pussy.
He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head a few times, trying to make the thoughts go away, but they wouldn’t.
And the next thing he realized, he found himself heading in the freezing cold toward the East Washington Avenue Bridge.
He reached into the pocket of his hoodie for the bottle of whisky he’d stashed inside, removed it, and slugged down about half of it as he walked.
So, how was one supposed to do this anyway?
He hadn’t left a note; he knew that was a thing some people did. Should he make some phone calls? No one would probably pick up anyway. Maybe send some texts?
He thought about Ryan first, and that immediately dropped him to his knees right there on the side of the road as he struggled to catch his breath.
This was going to wreck Ryan beyond repair.
“I need you to stay alive. If something happens to you, there’s not a fucking chance I survive it. You understand me?”
A tidal wave of regret slammed into him. Maybe he should just turn back. This was crazy. He wasn’t really considering this.
